Under the covers

With her book out in the world, debut novelist Gillian Harvey wonders what’s next?

One thing I find infuriating about the world of publishing is the speed. I’m one of those people who are used to living life at 100mph (not in a fun way, mind) and having to wait a year between publications is nothing short of excruciating. I get it though. I mean, once the writing is done, a book is far from publication ready. There are still Things to Do.

There’s the small matter of the edits. And then the, erm, other edits. Then line edits. Then a cover, a blurb, dedication, acknowledgements…

Don’t get me wrong: I can handle the Things. What I can’t handle is the space in between the Things. I mean, I do have a life – I work, I do the whole being a mum thing. I’ve been known to drink a cup of tea. But none of these fun pastimes stop me wanting to know what is happening with my book at all times. It may be that I’ve chosen the wrong career.

This month, my nails have been bitten to the quick, because

I’ve finished the manuscript for novel 3. Wonderful! I hear you cry. Well, yes. Possibly.

It’s just that I don’t yet know who is going to publish it – or whether it will be published at all.

Novel 2 is being polished and dressed and prepared for public scrutiny, and once that’s all done and dusted, I am told there will be time to read, consider and take my third to acquisitions.

I’m worried though. Sales of No1 haven’t been what I’d hoped – I blame Covid, but that doesn’t silence the tiny voice in my head that tells me, ‘It’s not Covid. It’s you,’ at every possible opportunity. It might be that I’ll need to wait until No2 is released to get a definite answer. It might be that the answer will be ‘no’.

I might have to seek out pastures new.

Macbeth – the poster-boy for the overly ambitious – nails it when he says: to be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus. Yes, he was talking about keeping the gig of being King. But these words seem to sum up my authorly experience to date.

I want to feel secure, but the more I dip my toe into the murky waters of authordom, the more I feel like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, struggling to keep afloat in an icy ocean, while other authors recline safely on floating doors or – even better – make it to a life raft. Not that I’m melodramatic…

I mean, I’m not going to freeze to death like Leo. And hopefully not completely lose my marbles like Macbeth. But if things aren’t resolved soon, I’m going to have to work on my flexibility.

Because once the fingernails have gone, I’ll be moving on to the toes…